


Like a Moth Toward Flame

by SerenLyall



Series: Burn the book that says you took the Autumn [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, bookshop au, celebrian is a bright flower child, elrond is a combat medic vet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenLyall/pseuds/SerenLyall
Summary: In which Elrond meets Celebrían.





	Like a Moth Toward Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little bit (a lot) in love with this AU, and so here's another (albeit short) oneshot for it! Not all of them will be this short, I swear. The ending seemed...right, though, and I didn't want to ruin it with adding more, so even though I initially had more planned, it got scrapped - possibly to be written into a second (probably short) oneshot. In any case, here you go - and I hope you enjoy!

Like a Moth Toward Flame

The bell over the door into the bookshop tinkled, drawing Elrond’s attention away from the book in his hands. He looked up to see a short, young woman with silver-blonde hair, and who looked vaguely familiar, step into his shop. She was grinning and carrying a vase filled with flowers: yellow and white daisies interspersed with shocks of green from ferns.

“Hello?” she called, peering through the daylit room. “Is anyone here?”

Elrond stood from his armchair. The young woman uttered a small, barely audible squeak, then seemed to recover herself. She smiled brilliantly.

“Hi!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward. “Are you the owner of this shop?”

“I am,” said Elrond warily, eyeing her. She did not seem to be a threat—but, then, the smallest and least-assuming were almost always the most dangerous. How many times had he learned that lesson? “What can I do for you?”

“I came to bring a “welcome-to-the-neighborhood” gift,” the young woman said brightly. “That is to say, I am new to the neighborhood, and I wanted to introduce myself to my new neighbors, only it isn’t appropriate to do that without a gift of some sort, so—here.” She held out the vase filled with flowers.

Elrond took them cautiously, not taking his eyes off of the woman. “Very well then,” he said carefully. The glass was cold in his hands, and the water, filling the bottom third of the blown vase, sloshed slightly as he took it. “Welcome.”

The young woman smiled, even more brilliantly than before, and turned. She did not, however, leave, as Elrond had hoped she would. Instead, she walked over to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls, and began to trace her fingers over the spines of the many books stored there.

“Was there something else I could help you with?” Elrond asked, standing rooted to the spot, the vase still in his hands.

“Oh,” the young woman exclaimed, turning, “no. I only wanted to peruse for a moment. If that’s okay?” she added hurriedly. “I’ve always loved books, and bookshops, and so when I found out that I was going to be setting up shop next to one, I was very excited.”

Elrond arched an eyebrow. “So, you’re the proprietor of the new florist’s shop beside me?” he asked, the recognition he had felt at first glance of her snapping into place. He had seen her going to and fro from the shop beside his over the last few weeks, silver-blonde hair catching the sunlight and turning her hair to moonbeams. She had always been dressed nicely, with sunglasses covering eyes that he saw now were a brilliant blue—usually sundresses, tunics with leggings and soft belts, and blouses with skirts or slacks.

“I am,” the young woman said, one corner of her lips, which had flattened into a much softer smile in the intervening seconds, twisted up into a half-grin. She opened her arms. “Thus the welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.”

“And am I the only one you brought a gift to?” Elrond asked shrewdly, finally unsticking his feet from the floor and turning toward the counter along the back wall.

The shop was small but cozy. Rows of bookshelves filled the back corners of the long, rectangular room, while toward the front the shelves were relegated to standing along the walls. The cherry wood counter was stuffed between the bookshelves, sitting against the back wall; it was elevated slightly, sitting up on a one-step dais, with a lamp and a high stool behind it. Hidden in a nook, between the front door and the rows of bookshelves in the back, were two armchairs and a tall, standing lamp, currently turned on to shed soft, golden light across the tomes filling the shelves; it was from one of these two armchairs that Elrond had risen at the young woman’s entrance. There were two windows, as well as the windows in the door, standing to either side of the shop’s entrance, facing east. The late morning sunlight spilled in, lighting the rich, red rug spread across the hardwood floors.

The young woman chuckled. “You’ve found me out,” she said lightly, turning to Elrond with yet another bright smile for him.

“You know you could have come in without one,” Elrond said, stepping up behind the counter and placing the vase filled with flowers on it beside his lamp. It, too, was on, casting warm, yellow light across the wooden surface.

“Oh?” the young woman asked, arching one delicate eyebrow. “You mean you wouldn’t have been offended by a too-forward guest coming in to browse without purchase?”

“Not when that too-forward guest is a beautiful young woman,” Elrond said without thinking. Then his lips snapped shut and he blushed. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I should not—I mean, I usually think before I speak, only I—”

But the young woman only laughed, bright and clear and beautiful. Elrond surprised himself by hoping, somewhere, deep in the undamaged parts of his heart—and perhaps even in the damaged parts, too—that he would hear her laugh again. That he could be the one responsible for making her laugh again.

“No offense taken,” the young woman said. Then she sighed. “I’m afraid I must go, though. I’ve already been gone for longer than I probably should have been.”

“You’ve only been here for five minutes,” Elrond pointed out.

The young woman shrugged. “Today is my grand opening,” she told him. “Five minutes could be the difference between success and failure.”

“Well,” said Elrond, “I am glad you stopped in.” He surprised himself even more to realize that he meant it.

“I am too,” said the young woman. She sounded happy. “I’m sure I’ll be back.”

“I hope to see you again…” Elrond trailed off, realizing he’d never gotten her name. “And what is your name?” he asked.

“Celebrían,” said the young woman.

“And I am Elrond,” said Elrond. He stepped down from the counter and crossed to stand in front of Celebrían, where he could shake her hand. She took his in hers—and Elrond was surprised yet again, this time by how firm and steady her grip was, in spite of the softness of her hand and the smoothness of her skin. There were no callouses on her palms, no scars on her fingers; she had, it would seem, lived a soft life.

Elrond found himself happy at that thought.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Elrond,” Celebrían said, pulling her hand back and curtsying to him.

“Er,” said Elrond, this time surprised by her actions, “indeed. It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Celebrían.”

“And now I must away,” Celebrían said with yet another brilliant smile—and with that she turned and breezed out of the bookshop, stopping only for a second in the doorway to turn back and say, “I will see you again soon, Elrond.” And then, with that, she was gone.

Elrond watched her go, feeling more than a little like his entire world had been thrown off-axis. Which way was up? Which was down? Did he remember how to breathe? Or how to make his heart beat?

Just what had caused such a reaction in him, he wondered as he returned to his book and his armchair. It was not like he hadn’t seen pretty girls before.

There was just something about Celebrían—about the way she smiled, and even more the way she laughed. Something that was alluring to him—that made him want to follow her, to sink into her orbit, like a moth towards flame. Would that flame burn him, though?

Or could it, possibly, prove to be salvation?


End file.
